


Ravenous

by Seaneta



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Community: hannibalkink, Creepy Hannibal, Forced Cannibalism, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, One-sided Hannibal/Will Graham, Prison!Will, Someone Help Will Graham, mentions of Frederick Chilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaneta/pseuds/Seaneta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When word gets out that Will is starving himself inside Chilton’s hospital, he gets a very displeased visitor. </p><p>OR<br/>Hannibal force-feeding Will human meat while his hand is around his neck so he can feel Will swallow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravenous

**Author's Note:**

> Another delicious prompt from the Hannibal kink meme. Though, for the life of me, I cannot remember which round. The second-half of the summary was taken right from the prompt.

Will Graham walked down a section of the hospital he rarely visited, chains linking around his ankles and wrists. The sound of steel loops clunking against each other echoed off the walls, making every walk seem like a death sentence. There was only one guard beside him, unlike the usual two or three, because the staff came to realize what Will already knew; he was defenseless, weak-- becoming an empty shell like many of the inmates of Frederick Chilton’s hospital. He didn’t bother reacting when the nurses yanked on his restraints. Even when he was called from his cell minutes ago, with the announcement of a visitor, Will couldn’t help but take it with a passive nod.

Instead of the claustrophobic cage, the guard, whose nametag read _Matthew_ , opened an actual room for Will to step inside. It was empty, except for a table bolted to the floor and two benches on either side. It resembled an interrogation room.

Will eyed the walls for a one-way mirror, but he couldn’t even find one security camera. Did Chilton just have the place bugged?

Matthew tugged him into the room, hitching the handcuffs to the small metal loop welded on the table’s center. He found that he could scoot a few inches to his left or right, but the length of the shackles didn't allow for much else. He was unable come to a full stand and, as what was probably the highest precaution, couldn’t reach a person sitting across from him.

“Wait.”

The guard stopped halfway out the door, looking back a tad too eager for Will’s comfort, like he had been depending on Will to say something, _anything_.

“Yes?”

Will’s mouth slacked, he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. The idea of being alone had spooked him, he just wanted to delay the impossible. “Who…who is visiting me?”

Matthew smiled from the attention, propping the door open for Will’s company. “A friend. You should be excited.”

No, he wasn’t. It was difficult to feel much of anything lately. Except, maybe, bones in his body that had never protruded before. He could feel hipbones jutting out a little more than they used to. Even through the increasingly baggy jumpsuit, an observer could tell something wasn't right. It had been a handful of days since he ate anything solid, and already curious nurses would purposely grab at his wrists or waist, trying to gauge just how much was clothes and the rest bone. 

Will heard the repetition of footsteps down the hall, and immediately knew who it was. The stride was sure-footed, loud, in constant with Will's heart. A visit from him wasn’t overdue, no, he came to see Will every week on Thursday. But today was Tuesday, wasn’t it? Had he been missing time again and not even realizing it?

“Good afternoon, Will.”

Hannibal stood in the doorway, his suit jacket neatly draped over an arm while his other hand grasped a paper bag’s handle. Will looked at him dispassionately, turning himself away. His hands couldn’t reach his lap, couldn’t reach his face unless his head laid on the table, so he just balled them together, intertwining his fingers, and sighed. If it really _was_ Tuesday, and if that really _was_ Hannibal, and not some drugged up concoction of Chilton's doing, then this visit wasn’t a visit at all. The room’s design made sense now.

Hannibal regarded his weary acknowledgement as the best pleasantry he could probably supply, and welcomed himself into the chamber and shut the door. Will knew that guard was standing just outside, but he had no idea how thick these walls were, how much Matthew could really hear.

Will watched as he sat across from him, placing the bag on the floor. He then scrutinized the abrasions along Will's wrists, trailing up to find similar marks anywhere skin was exposed.

“The nurses are abusing you.”

The small room felt even smaller with Hannibal focusing every ounce of his attention on him. Only a few strained seconds passed before he shrugged, “I let them.”

“Because you have no other choice.” Hannibal remained stoic, his eyes roaming over Will’s thin frame through the jumpsuit, cataloging. “I wish you would have told me sooner, Will. Or at all."

Silence. Hannibal pressed, "Doctor Chilton tells me you haven’t been eating."

Now it was Will's turn to eye Hannibal suspiciously. He couldn’t help the flick in his gaze, the cautious turn of his head.

“There are no cameras in here. No recording devices of any kind.”

“ _Sure_.”

Hannibal continued, “Frederick and I came to an understanding of sorts. He understands you are slowly dying, under his…supposed _care_ , and he also understands I have an anchoring effect on you, Will. Once I rehabilitate you, you will still remain here, but I will be your predominant psychiatrist.”

Will raised his eyebrows at the implication. Although he would have _loved_ to observe such a conversation with the smug asshole, Hannibal having ranks over him again wasn’t at all great news. 

“Rehabilitate me?”

He smiled, a gleam appearing in his eyes that he allowed Will to ever see. That wasn’t good. Will watched as Hannibal turned to his side, pulling containers from the bag and set them along the table. Then two plates. Two sets of silverware. “Why have you stopped eating, Will?”

He glanced at the closed, probably locked door to his right. He never brought these issues up with Hannibal because he didn't want the damn bastard to know. He didn't want him claiming his right over Will as a patient. But he never in a million years thought Chilton would have instead. “Because. They lace my food.”

Hannibal frowned as he prepped their dinner. “You’re sure of this?”

A sigh. “I’d eat before my appointments. Then, suddenly, it was three hours later and staff would tell me Chilton had cancelled our session. Or they’d mock me for not remembering.”

“You don’t recall what happened during these blackouts?”

Will frowned, watching Hannibal’s hands disperse a home cooked meal on the plates. His stomach betrayed him, growling loudly, when the scent reached his nose. Really, he wanted to vomit if he could. That wasn’t pork. No way.

Did he just get the worse of two evils? Between Frederick and Hannibal, he’d gladly take the drugged-up potatoes over a human calf muscle any day.

“I’m not eating that, Hannibal. I’m not hungry.”

“You’re frail and sick. You will eat what I give you." Hannibal gave what was obviously Will's plate ample portions of the still-warm dish. He looked back up at the other man. "This is something relatively simple as to not upset your stomach. Apple butter pork loin, served with a warm side, in yellow heirloom tomato sauce.”

“Crackers are simple.”  _And they aren’t made from people._

“Crackers won’t bring your strength back.”

“Hannibal,” he nearly whined, “I really don’t feel like eating.”

“Eating at all? Or eating what I have prepared for you?” He set Will’s plate and fork beside his clasped hands. Will slid the plate away, as far as the handcuffs would allow. He stared defiantly at Hannibal as he did this, though he knew it didn’t have the same affect with the bags under his eyes or the hollowness of his cheekbones.

Hannibal’s eyes watched the rebellious act, noting the challenge Will had begun.

“I’m not eating, Hannibal.”

“Of course not. You can’t.” Hannibal stood, rounding the table and Will watched, unsure, as he took a seat uncomfortably close beside him. Will tried to scoot away, but the chains held him adamantly. He took Will’s discarded plate, reaching for a knife from a container, and began to expertly slice the pork. “I apologize for not realizing sooner, Will. I must have placed you in an awkward situation, but know I do not mind doing this for you. Here.”

A small piece of meat, mounted on the fork, was lifted close to Will’s mouth. He stared at the food, then back at Hannibal, feeling the strain of metal against his wrists. He couldn’t escape this.

“Come, Will. You’ve enjoyed my cooking before.”

 _Before I knew what it was._ But Will didn’t speak, he didn’t want to, in fear of Hannibal pushing the devil’s meat passed his lips. He spoke with his widening eyes instead, asking Hannibal if this was what all this came down to. Hannibal forcing Will to eat human meat, hand feeding it to him.

Will’s stubbornness was met with Hannibal’s other arm sliding across his back, wrapping around his neck. Will could feel the warmth of the palm press down against his throat, Hannibal’s closer proximity pushing into the side of his body. He gasped, thinking Hannibal was about to strangle him, but the fork slipped past his open mouth, utilizing the opportunity to deposit the flavorsome food inside.

“Chew.” He said, watching Will closely.

His jaw slowly moved as his face scrunched up, eyes betrayed and asking why. Will didn’t want it in his mouth longer than necessary, but he also didn’t want to choke on the food as it tried to travel past the pressure on his neck. He chewed it until it was mush in his mouth, the flavor long gone, and he watched Hannibal as his eyes traveled just below his chin.

"Swallow it."

When Will obeyed the instruction, Hannibal felt his esophagus contract around the food, and move it down toward the famished stomach.

“Hannibal, what are you-”

He plucked another piece from the plate, gliding the fork into Will’s mouth. He shook his head, thrashing in the chains, and tried to shake the damn grip off his throat. A shiver curled up his spine as his tongue wrapped around another piece of the tender meat. It reminded Will of taking medicine as a child, his mind so against the foul flavor of liquid that his body would physically recoil. This was much worse. Not only was he up against what Hannibal was forcing into his mouth, but he also had to ignore the glorious sensation radiating from his taste buds. Food, any kind of food, was a godsend. It made his senses explode from the recent lack of stimulus, and his stomach groaned from the tease. Will’s body wanted the nutrition, was in desperate need of it.

Hannibal kept a strong grip around the man’s neck, his hand covering the entire width of it. He burned the rhythm of Will's mouth into his memory. He could feel Will's teeth bite into Mr. Zachary O’Grady, practically sense when Will’s tongue pushed the food down. His own hand pushed against Will’s neck, feeling the muscles contract. The tip of his fingers could also feel Will’s pulse point. Though the man certainly tried to keep his composure, his heart was beating like a hummingbird’s.

“Please." Will coughed. "I’ll vomit.”

“And I’ll keep feeding you until you keep it down.” His accent was thick, but the threat flowed smoothly to the other man's ears. Hannibal let the third scoop of food hover close, this time wanting Will to willingly ingest it.

Will looked ready to cry, his self-control nearing its delicate end. The hand against his neck gently squeezed, smelling of Hannibal’s cologne. Nervous about the possibility strangulation (how easy could Hannibal pin the bruises on a rude nurse or guard?), he leaned forward and took the fork inside his mouth. With his lips, Will eased it off the utensil and unhurriedly chewed. His eyes fluttered as he drew back to swallow it, the hand tensing as his throat bumped it down.

For half an hour they did this. Will let each portion slip past his lips as Hannibal held him unbearably close, his eyes shifting between Will’s mouth and the frail skin peeking between his fingers. Will never cried, but his shoulders trembled at every audible groan his stomach produced. Hannibal could most certainly hear his body’s rejoice at the food, see the contentment filling his eyes.

When Will swallowed the last bit of the meal, he let out a mangled sigh, wiping some remains from his chin against his shoulder. Hannibal placed the fork back on the plate but he didn't release his hold on Will. Seeing the fork rest there, Will couldn’t help the sudden wave of regret wash over him. Though he consumed the cooking, he had to tell himself it wasn’t of his free will. It wasn’t his fault.

Hannibal’s hand left Will’s throat and traveled down the ill-fitting jumpsuit, only stopping to land against his abdomen. He pressed inward, ignoring Will attempting to shuffle away. Through the heat of his hand, Hannibal could feel the satisfied rumbles of his stomach. There was something utterly enthralling about the way Will ate his meals, especially after the knowledge of what it truly was. Now the food sat in his stomach, giving him the energy he will most surely need in the coming weeks.

Will watched, cautiously, as Hannibal stood from the bench. He directed his steps back to the bag hidden below the table. His eyes followed Hannibal, the man’s motions giving him a sense of that calming familiarity of their days in his office. The poised shoulders, immaculate suit, the graceful gestures as he popped a straw into a thermos. Will came to associate all those things with safety before, comfort.

Begrudgingly, he realized he still identified Hannibal with protection.

Maybe he really did belong in the hospital.

He stepped back over to Will’s bench, sitting just where he had and bending the straw toward Will. He held the drink up, letting Will drink at his own pace. He grimaced before tentatively reaching for it, sucking on the white plastic until he felt the wonderfully familiar taste of non-medicated water on his tongue. He swallowed enthusiastically, inviting the cool drink down his throat. Anything to wash away the lingering taste of beef that wasn’t beef.

He looked at Hannibal as he did this, noticing that he too hadn’t been sleeping well either. He considered asking why, but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Hannibal set the thermos down when Will backed away, though it wasn’t from satisfaction from the meal. It seemed to be the opposite. He didn’t catch it until saline trickled into the air, and saw that Will had begun to silently cry. Some tears clung to the fringe of his eyelashes while one or two managed to escape down his cheeks. Because of the restraints, he couldn’t curl up and hide himself away. He couldn’t even deny Hannibal, even as the doctor wrapped his arms around Will’s body and gently pushed him close, tucking his head against his crouched shoulder.

“Shh, shhh, you did fantastic, Will.” Hannibal traced soothing circles into his back. “Your recovery will be easier than you think. And I'll be with you at every step.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic) Ravenous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207036) by [Hannibible-and-The-Holy-Graham (Just_East)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_East/pseuds/Hannibible-and-The-Holy-Graham)




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